


Zombee!

by 1morejess (Iskah_nha_Linza)



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:04:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iskah_nha_Linza/pseuds/1morejess
Summary: A double date and new neighbors end up making a harrowing Halloween for our boys, but all's well that ends well, right?





	1. Lavender's Blue, Dilly, Dilly

**Author's Note:**

> I originally "published" this on the Monkeeland website. I just wanted a copy here, too!

Davy Jones rushed into the Monkees' pad, leaving the door standing wide open. "Micky, Micky!" he yelled, at the top of his lungs. "Oh, Micky, my best mate, my main man, my… That is so gross. Wot is it?"

"I dunno," Micky said, slurping down another spoonful of what appeared to be lavender porridge. "Peter made breakfast this morning."

At the kitchen table, Mike put down the newspaper. "And, I'm so hungry, I'm not askin' Pete what's in it because I know if I do, I won't be able to finish it."

"Anyway, I need a favor, man," Davy said, looking imploringly at Micky. "You know that new waitress down at the Vincent Van Gogh-Gogh? I finally got a date for tonight! But she says we have to double 'cause her cousin from outta town is staying with her, and her parents won't let her leave Jocelyn home alone. So I need-"

"Sorry, Davy." Micky took another bite of pastel goo. He looked a bit pained until he swallowed. "I have a girlfriend, remember?" he asked when Davy gave him a confused look. "We're been going steady for almost a month. I can't go out with other girls, even as a favor," Micky tried to explain. Davy's brow furrowed with concentration as he listened.

"Oh, it's useless, Micky," Mike interrupted. "You might as well try convincin' a seagull that it would be happier building a nest in Kansas somewhere."

Davy's eyes suddenly lit up, as he whirled in Mike's direction. "Jocelyn's a real nice girl, Mike. Pretty, too."

"Smart?" Mike asked, picking the paper back up to about halfway to his face.

Davy looked at the floor for a second. "Real pretty. And nice. And, um…did I mention she's a collector?"

"Of what?"

"Matchbooks," Davy said, triumphantly.

"Forget it." Mike disappeared behind the paper again. "I have plans for tonight, anyhow."

"I'm free tonight, Davy!" Peter said, hopefully.

"Pe-tah, the drive-in is playing a zombie movie for Halloween," Davy said, doubtfully.

"I'm not afraid of zombies," Peter declared. "I don't even believe in zombies. Unless they try to eat me, of course."

"I guess you could take Jocelyn, Peter…" Davy's voice trailed off.

"Bad idea. Bad idea!" came Mike's voice from behind the paper.

In a high-pitched "mother" voice, Micky put in, "Now, Davy, if your little brother has nightmares, you're going to be responsible."

"Also, keep a baseball bat next to your bed. I'm not comin' downstairs in the middle of the night, killin' make-believe zombies for ya." Mike chuckled.

"Please, Davy! I haven't been on a real date since Valerie..." Peter's eyes started to tear up.

Davy was too tender-hearted to say "no" when he saw his friend's tears. "Oh, Peter, of course you can come along. Now, don't cry. It's all settled. I need a bowl of that purple stuff, then. I'm starving."

"One bowl of oatmeal a la blueberries and pickled beets coming up for Davy Jones, the best friend a guy could have!" Peter exclaimed, triumphantly, as Micky and Mike both raced to the sink, retching.


	2. Yikes!

That evening, Davy Jones was ready for his date. To his consternation, Peter Tork was not, but Peter thought he was. So, Peter was very surprised when Davy's hand reached for his chin and lifted his face for inspection.

"I washed my face!" Peter yelped, indignantly, jumping backward.

"But you didn't shave! I don't want the girls thinking we're the kind of scruffy guys who don't shave. I got a reputation that you got to uphold, Pe-tah!"

"I did, too. I shaved this morning, same as always," the bassist answered. "If I shave twice in a day, my skin gets all dry, and I end up with little flakes right here-" Peter tilted his head and pointed to his dimple. "They get stuck and then I have to scrub really hard to get them out… Besides, the drive-in will be dark, and Jocelyn won't be able to tell if I shaved or not, anyway."

Davy turned away, shaking his head. "Don't blame me if you actually end up watching the movie, mate."

"Aren't we going to be late for picking the girls up?" Peter wanted to know.

"No worry. The girls had a class next door or something this afternoon, so they're walking over to meet us. I still can't believe I talked Micky and Mike into letting us have the Monkeemobile." Davy didn't mention that he had promised to take over Peter's turns at cooking for the next month in exchange for the keys.

"Can I drive?" Peter pleaded. "You still have a tendency to turn onto the wrong side of the road."

"Not a chance," Davy told Peter. "We're safer on the wrong side of the road than the pedestrians are with you driving on the sidewalk."

"Micky stuck his drumstick in my ear! You can't hold that against me forever!"

Just then, the boys were interrupted by high-pitched giggling from outside the door. Davy opened the door with a flourish, just as a pretty brunette started to knock, prompting a loud "Yikes!" from another dark-haired girl beside her.

"Hi, Davy!" said first girl. "This is my cousin, Jocelyn," motioning to the other.

"Ello, Greta," Davy answered. "Jocelyn, this is my roommate and band mate, Peter Tork."

"Hi! Can I take your coat?" Peter asked. Both girls were wearing light jackets over their thin sweaters, as the evenings had started growing chillier.

Jocelyn let out another string of high-pitched giggles that ended in a shriek. "Yikes, no, silly! We're going back outside!"

"Oh, right. Then, can I get you another coat?" Peter was getting flustered, but Davy was deep in conversation with Greta and didn't look up.

"Yikes! No, one's enough." This time, Jocelyn's laugh ended on a note so high off the register that even Davy glanced about in alarm.

"Let's be going, then. After you, luvs," he ushered the girls outside to the Monkeemobile, and Peter closed the door and followed.

At the drive-in, they all got snacks and bottles of Coke and settled in, waiting for the movie to start. In the backseat, Peter attempted conversation. "So, um, where are you from?" he asked.

Jocelyn giggled again, and Peter winced. "San Fran-cis-co!" she squealed, each syllable rising in pitch and volume. "What about you?"

"I'm from back east," he said.

"Like Asia?" she screeched.

Davy's head appeared over the seat, and he silently mouthed the words "I'm sorry, Peter" to his friend before returning to own date.

"Um, no, not like Asia. Like Connecticut."

"YIKES! I think I've been there. That's just up the beach a ways from that pier, isn't it, Greta?"

"What?" her cousin answered.

"The town of Connecticut, where Peter's from. Yikes, what a coincidence! They have really good pineapple-flavored ice cream there. We should go, after the movie! To Connecticut! Yikes!"

"No, no," Peter tried to explain. "Connecticut's not a town. It's a whole other state, on the other side of the country."

"Yikes! I guess we can't go then! I didn't bring a passport, and neither did Greta!" Jocelyn was still screaming every word she said, and Peter could feel a dull throbbing in his temple. To his surprise, he then heard his roommate say something that he never thought Davy Jones would say on a date:

"Shh, let's all watch the movie, shall we?"

When they dropped the girls off that night, Davy let Peter drive the rest of the way home. Neither Monkee spoke until they were both inside, and then Davy leaned up against the door and sighed, "Yikes!"

Peter tried to look upset, but a huge grin spread across his face. "Gosh, Davy, I never thought I would say this about someone else, but Jocelyn's kind of a dummy."

"Don't let Mr. Schneider hear you say that," Davy laughed, as the two began getting ready for bed.


	3. Mike's Date With Destiny

As soon as Peter and Davy--and the girls--left the pad, Mike crept down the staircase, walking as softly as possible and hardly breathing. "Yer bein' silly," he told himself, but he couldn't help it. What he was about to do felt downright wrong, but not a bank-robbery kind of wrong. More like a dog-wearing-shoes kind of wrong, he figured--the kind of wrong that doesn't really hurt anyone.

When Mike opened the front door, he slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and looked around cautiously. Then he quietly closed the door, and with a sudden burst of speed, raced over to a neighboring house and began pounding furiously on a door. An ornate sign on the door read, "Lady Destiny Finnegan--Astrologist, Crystal Worker, Meditation Guru, and Palm Reader. Rates Negotiable. P. Finnegan--Billiards Lessons. $3/hr, firm."

Mike hadn't noticed that last line before. He could have saved himself the sneaking around and let the guys believe he was improving his pool game.

"Des! Des, your eight o'clock appointment is here!" Penny Finnegan shouted from inside. She heard her sister moan something from the bathroom. Penny ran back the hall and pressed her ear up against the closed door. "What?"

"Please, Pen, I'm dying. That waiter at the restaurant--I think he poisoned my French fries. I'm so sick!"

"Are you forgetting the fact that you also made an ice cream, asparagus, and sardine-banana split after we got home? Seriously, I'm the one who should be sick right now. You didn't have to watch yourself eat it."

"You didn't have to watch me eat it, either."

"It was like a gory movie scene I couldn't look away from, Des."

"Please, Penny. I can't lose this client! I haven't worked since we moved here. Be me!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Penny snapped.

"Oh, please, baby sister of ten whole minutes. What else is an identical twin for?" Destiny pleaded.

"When I find a use for mine, I'll let you know."

"Please!"

"Okay," Penny sighed.

"I love you!"

Penny rolled her eyes, even though her sister couldn't see it, went back into the kitchen, and opened the door-and then gaped for a few seconds. This guy was one of her sister's clients? Most of her sister's clients were… well, wackier-looking. More paisley and beads. This guy was wearing tinted glasses and a green wool hat. He was… different.

"C'min," she recovered.

Mike stepped into the kitchen. He looked around, expectantly. "Um, is, uh, Lady Destiny Finnegan available?"

"I am Miss Finnegan," Penny said, thinking that it wasn't exactly a lie.

"You are?" Mike asked, his voice squeaking a little. He immediately lowered it, hoping to sound more masculine. "I mean, I'm sorry. I'm Mike Nesmith… We talked on the phone?" Mike was having serious doubts about this. He had expected someone older… like that crazy mother of Fern's, or if it had to be a younger woman, then the flowy skirt and beads type. He knew he certainly did not expect a girl about his own age with a neat red ponytail, wearing blue jeans and a white sweater.

"Erm, yes. I'm afraid I don't remember much of that conversation, Mr. Nesmith. Can you refresh my memory?"

Mike's eyes narrowed. What kind of silly girl didn't even remember a conversation from the previous day? He was starting to regret this even more.

"There was this terrible racket from next door," Penny said, as an idea hit her. There had been quite a few rackets from next door in the few days since the girls had moved in. There had also been some rather good music at other times.

"Oh, that" Mike looked abashed, and pulling off his hat, began plucking at the pom-pom. "My roommate Micky left his dirty clothes on the stairs, and our roommate Davy slipped on them and fell down the stairs, and he knocked over the checkers game that our other roommate Peter was playin' with Mr. Schneider…"

"Let me guess," Penny interrupted with a grin. "Mr. Schneider is another roommate?"

"Naw, he's our dummy."

Penny was about to ask what kind of person played checkers with a dummy but thought better of it.

"Anyway," Mike continued, "I was tellin' you about my songwritin'. I haven't written any new songs in almost four months, and all the clubs are gettin' tired of hearing our old ones."

"Ah, writer's block," Penny said. "Have you tried writing in a different location?"

"Yep, took my guitar to the beach. Nothin'."

"Oh, what about what one of those dictionaries that has rhyming words?"

"I came up with 'I hope that we will never part, blah-blah, blah-blah, blank-ity heart. Even when Micky tried scatting it, it didn't work." The lanky Texan grinned ruefully.

Penny chuckled. "That's pretty bad."

"So, do you know something that will help?" Mike leaned forward, with an anxious look.

Penny was completely out of suggestions, but she suddenly remembered Destiny's plea for her to "be me!"

"Let's go into the living room." Mike followed her into the room, which was decorated almost exactly like he had originally imagined. There were candles everywhere, some lit and dripping wax, some half-burned and cold. A giant black cat with a half-white face was staring out an open windowsill behind fluttering curtains. A low table in the corner held a dozen or so lumps of what appeared to be quartz and other colored rocks. All it was missing was a crystal ball.

"Okay, let me think… Here, hold this rock in your hand," Penny said, grabbing one at random.

"Which one?" asked Mike.

"Does it matter? Try your left. Here, sit on this--big pillow thing." She tossed an orange and gold embroidered cushion toward him, which Mike deftly caught and plopped onto the floor. He sat on it, legs outstretched and watched as the redhead yanked a cushion off the sofa for herself and sat on it. First, she sat Indian-style and then appeared to reconsider, pulling one of her ankles up forcibly with a yank and finally managing a lotus position. Penny couldn't remember what Des did with her hands in this position; she could only remember dusting around her chanting sister. She reached over and awkwardly took Mike's right hand in her left. He glanced down, noticing that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring, and he wondered aimlessly who the P. Finnegan on the sign was. Her father? Or a brother, maybe. Yeah, she was too old to live with her parents. She had probably taken an apartment with an unmarried brother. That made sense.

"Okay, we're going to try to make your mind go blank first. Um, okay… Ohm. Ohmm." Penny panicked, not remembering the rest. There was more, wasn't there?

Mike took up the chant and resisted the urge to crack jokes about cereal boxes. "Ohm, ohm… on the range… Sorry."

Penny choked back a laugh. "Well, do you feel unblocked yet?"

"I feel like a blockhead. Is that close?" Mike stood up. "Look, I'm real sorry, Miss Finnegan, but I just don't think this is gonna help me at all. How much-"

"No charge." Penny attempted to stand up, as well, but didn't get her legs uncrossed in time. She rocked on her knees for an embarrassing moment and then fell forward onto her face. This is just fine, she thought. He can't see me blush this way, and it's a fitting way to end the evening. Just go home, she thought. Des always said if you wish hard enough, your thoughts would become energy beacons that will result in the wished-for actions. Go home, right now!

Instead, a pair of warm hands reached down, picked her up, and sat her back down on a chair. "Does that happen often when you meditate?" Mike asked, fighting not to smirk.

"Every single time. Look, there's something--"

"Let's just forget it and keep this between us, right?" Mike interrupted. "I'd prefer my friends not know I was taken in by a quack fortune teller or guru or whatever you call yourself. Tell your brother if I ever decide to take billiards lessons I'll call him--no hard feelings, okay?"

"What did you just say?" Penny started to fume. For starters, no one called her sister a quack but her, she thought, temporarily forgetting that she, Penny, was indeed a quack guru. She reached down for one of the cushions with the intention of throwing it at him, but Mike was too quick and was already through the kitchen. The cushion harmlessly hit the closing door.


	4. The Boy Who Cried Zombie

When Micky returned home, he noticed the Monkeemobile was back and the pad was already dark. It must have been later than he had realized, he thought. He hadn't meant to stay out so long, but the date had gone so well. Not only did the girl of his dreams like him, but all of her friends had seemed to like him, too--and she hadn't minded! The way the smile played around her beautiful lips when the others vied for his attention or laughed at his jokes made him admire her even more for her self-confidence. "I'm in love," he sang very softly to himself as he opened the door.

Micky was on the fourth step of the staircase when an ear-splitting scream came from Peter and Davy's room. Momentarily stunned, Micky froze.

"Zombeeeee! Haaaaaaaaalp!"

WHAM! Micky didn't hear Mike running down the stairs, and Mike didn't see Micky standing like a stone statue on the stairs. The two lanky Monkees slammed into each other, fell, and thumped down the last few steps.

"What--" Mike glared at Micky as he got to his feet. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"ZOMBEE! MIKE, DAVY, MICKY! HELP!"

"I think that's Peter," Micky said, as Mike helped him up.

They raced into the other bedroom, where Davy was trying to shake Peter was awake. "Pe-tah! You're 'aving a nightmare! Wake up."

"Oh, guys, thank goodness you're here!" Peter said, sitting upright. "There was an evil lady scientist, and she captured the teenagers who took their boat over to her island, where she keeps her laboratory, and she…"

"Oh, Pe-tah, that's the plot of the movie we saw, remember?" Davy sighed.

With an I-told-you-so look in Davy's direction, Micky and Mike said good-night and went back upstairs. They had just drifted off to sleep when they heard Peter screech again. "ZOMBEEEEE! No, no, I don't wanna be a zombee!"

Both upstairs Monkees staggered to their feet and ran into each other in the dark-again. "Ow," Micky yelped.

"Sorry, Mick. I can't see."

"Mike? Are you moving toward the light switch?"

"Yeah."

"I'll move away from the light switch, then," Micky answered.

"Good idea."

By the time they made it downstairs, Davy had woken up Peter-again.

"Sorry, guys, I had another nightmare," Peter said, in a sheepish voice, when they poked their heads around the door.

"Alright," Davy said. "I got a plan. Micky, you go get the special anti-zombie potion out of the cupboard, and Mike and I will look for the Super-Anti-Zombie Weapon."

"Huh?" Micky looked startled.

"I gotcha," Mike smiled. He reached into a closet and rummaged around, pulling out a Louisville Slugger. "See, Pete, I'm puttin' this right here, within easy reach in case a zombie comes in the door."

With an understanding nod, Micky went into the kitchen and then reappeared, holding a saltshaker, around which he had taped a new label. "Zom-B-Gone!" he announced, proudly. "Sprinkle it around your bed for protection."

"Thanks, Micky!" Peter said, beginning to shake a salt over the bedroom floor.

"Now, if only you 'ad something for the headache Peter gave me," Davy mumbled.

Micky vanished again and returned with a bottle of aspirin.

"Don't mind if I do," Davy quipped, opening the bottle. Instead of taking any of the medicine, though, he took the cotton ball from the top, pulled it apart, and stuffed it into his ears.

"Now, let's all get some sleep!" Mike added.

Next door, Penny had decided not to wake her sleeping sister, and she went to bed. A naturally sound sleeper, she was dead to the world in no time.

Destiny, whose tummy-ache had improved, woke up in the middle of the night and was unable to fall back asleep. Since no one could see her, she decided to apply a mud-mask and put her hair into curlers to ease the boredom. After that, she located a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, an onion, some mushrooms, and some left-over spaghetti, and she assembled a sandwich, of sorts. It was kind of fun to be up this late, she reflected. She could do all the things Penny made fun of her for doing through the day.

Muted screams and thumping noises came from somewhere outside. Des tilted her head to the side and tried to pinpoint the direction they were coming from. "Zombies?" she wondered. Maybe she ought to wake Penny… except Penny didn't believe in zombies. Or ghosts.

More screams followed a little while later. How could Pen sleep through this? Des jumped up. If someone next door was really being attacked by zombies, she would feel terrible reading about it in tomorrow's paper. She ran through the apartment like a whirlwind, stopping only for a second in the kitchen, where she paused and grabbed the broom--Des didn't believe in violence, but for zombies, she would make an exception.

By the time she got to the house next door, all was quiet and dark again. Had the zombies already gotten to the residents? Were they lurking inside, waiting for a concerned neighbor to knock?

"I can outsmart a zombie," she decided. "I'll knock on a window instead. Then whoever opens it can tell me what's going on. I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed that a zombie doesn't open it."

She picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them at the window.

Inside, Peter jumped up. "Davy? Davy, was that you?" When no one answered, he climbed out of bed and grabbed the bat. He did feel a little better with it in his hands, but he wished Davy would wake up.

There was movement outside the window. Peter yelled, but no one came running as they had before, and Davy just turned over toward the wall and pulled the pillow over his head.

"I'm not goin' down there again," Mike said.

"Yeah, Peter'll be fine," Micky sighed. "My mom always said sometimes you just gotta let 'em cry, or they'll never learn to sleep through the night."

Peter screamed again and watched in horror as a grotesque head came into sight outside the window. It had orangey-brown skin that was cracking open on its forehead. It had knobby pink and orange protrusions on its head. It was clutching something long and thin in its hand--and now, oh, no! It was trying to open the window! He grabbed the baseball bat and swung at the window, just as the monster outside did the same thing with whatever it was holding in its hand.

Upstairs, Micky sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Mike, did you just knock over a lamp?"

"No, Micky. I thought you fell off a trampoline and dropped some glasses."

"No, I'm still in bed."

"Well, me, too."

They both leaped to their feet. "BURGLAR! BURGLAR! PETER, DAVY!"


	5. Move It Along, Nothing To Steal Here, Folks

Micky and Mike toppled down the stairs together in the dark. The sound of the window breaking had roused Davy, even with the cotton still in his ears, and he and Peter were struggling with a figure on the other side of the window. However, they weren't making much progress because Peter was trying to push what he thought was a zombie out, and Davy was trying to pull what he thought was a burglar inside.

"Now, you listen 'ere," Davy lectured. "You picked the wrong place to rob."

"Yeah, we don't have anything worth stealin'," Mike said, rushing into the room.

"You should really try 1538 South Beechwood--" Micky said, a step behind him. "What? I'm trying to help!" he added, when the others turned disapproving looks in his direction.

"Please don't eat me," Peter begged the 'zombie.' "I like being human!"

"Alright, now for the moment of truth," Mike said.

"What?" Davy asked.

"I SAID, NOW FOR THE MOMENT-"

"Wai' a second." Davy pulled the cotton out of his ears.

"I said, now for the moment of truth," Mike repeated.

"Ooh, that's good, tha' is," Davy said. "Real dramatic, Mike. Did you say that to build the tension up?"

"Well, thank you, but no, I said it because I just located the light switch." Mike flipped on the light, and Peter screamed again and cowered in a salt-bordered corner, shaking at the sight of the "zombie."

"Where's the zombie?" Destiny asked, spinning around, wide-eyed, but seeing only four young men in various styles and colors of pajamas. "Take me to it. I have a certificate from the famed School of the Supernatural, and I assure you that I can handle the situation for you."

"Wonderful. A nutcase!" Micky said, stifling a yawn. "A thief breaks into our pad in the middle of the night, dressed like a zombie, and she's straight outta the asylum."

"Sir, you don't know what you're dealing with. I know you all may believe that you can overpower a zombie by yourselves, but I assure you that it takes a trained professional--" Destiny had a one-track mind.

So did Peter. "Don't let the zombie eat me!" Peter begged his friends, as he attempted to hide behind Mike.

"I must ask you once again to lead me to the zombie," Destiny insisted.

Micky took her gently by the shoulders and led her to the living room mirror, where she immediately fainted into Davy's arms.

"Even zombie girls fall for Davy," Peter commented, tiptoeing out of the room, but making sure that several feet of space remained between the zombie and himself.

"Hang onto her, Davy, while I get some rope to tie her up," Mike ordered.

"Now, just a minute, Mike. That's a li'l unnecessarily rough, I think," Davy said.

"Yeah, Mike. It's just one little bitty girl cat burglar," Micky said. "Or zombie burglar, as the case may be."

Destiny whimpered a little and opened her eyes. Davy made sure that she was steady on her feet and then let her go. "You might wan' to wash that stuff off your face," he suggested. "It does come off, doesn't it?"

"What? Oh, the mud. May I use your… um, little boys' room?" Destiny sounded a little dazed.

The boys all looked confused for a moment, and then four fingers pointed toward the bathroom.

***

At the girls' apartment, Penny awoke suddenly. She didn't know why, but she felt something was missing. She opened the door to Destiny's room and noted the empty bed. A quick search of the apartment turned up nothing, except that the front door stood ajar. Penny stepped outside and noticed a curler on the steps. She bent down to pick it up and saw what appeared to be a trail of broom bristles… leading to the house next door. She turned the corner just in time to see Destiny being yanked inside a window. She was about to plunge after her twin, when common sense prevailed.

She returned to her kitchen, called the police, hung up, drummed her fingers on the counter for a few agonized seconds, then rummaged around in a closet, yelled triumphantly, and took off for the house next door again, this time holding a large object.

***

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind Destiny, Mike pulled the guys into a huddle. "Look, guys, this chick could be dangerous," he whispered. "She broke into our pad in the middle of the night, shrieking about zombies, for cryin' out loud. I say we tie her up and call the cops. Not to mention, she looks really familiar. Think, Davy, have you broken any hearts lately?"

"No…" Davy said, slowly. "She doesn't look at all familiar to me. Wha' if she's just a… wha' do you call them--the people who dress up and knock on doors?" Davy asked.

"Girl Scouts?" Micky suggested.

"Encyclopedia salesmen?" Peter guessed.

"No, no, for Halloween."

"Trick-or-treaters?" Micky glanced back at the closed bathroom door.

"Yeah. I thought that was a typical American custom this time of year. Maybe we could give her some candy and then she'll go away."

"She broke our window, Davy," Micky pointed out. "That's kind of over-the-top for a trick. Plus, she would have knocked on the door first and said 'Trick or treat.'"

"Oh, right."

"Actually, guys… I sort of helped her break the window," Peter admitted.

"Don't worry about it, Pete," Micky said. "It could have happened to any of us. I mean, any time someone breaks into the place in the middle of the night, any sane, sensible person might assume that it's an imaginary, undead creature coming to devour them, right, Mike?"

When there was no answer, the guys turned around to see Mike pull a chair under the bathroom's outside doorknob.

"I'm lockin' her in," he told the others, grabbing the phone. "Hello, police? We need an officer pronto at--" He was interrupted by a loud knock on the door and a voice echoing "Open up! Police!" through a megaphone.

"Oh, wow! That was fast. Thank you." Mike hung up.

Micky started to open the door, but Peter blocked him. "Before we let you in, can you prove you're not another zombie?" he called out.

"Prove I'm--what?" the amplified voice squeaked a little. "Let me in, or I'll shoot the door down!"

Peter swung the door open to reveal a redheaded girl holding a megaphone.

"Great, anothuh trick-or-treater," Davy said. "A nigh'gown and a bull'orn's a funny outfit, though."

"Here, you can have the rest of my candy bar," Peter said, pulling a crushed, melting chocolate bar out of a pajama pocket. "It's all I have."

Penny brushed him aside and marched up to Mike. "YOU!"

"YOU!" he yelled back.

"Who?" Micky and Davy chorused, as Destiny thumped on the bathroom door.

"Pen, is that you? Um, guys? The door seems to be stuck. Can someone help me?"

"All right, hoodlums, hands in the air!" Two burly policemen burst into the room. "What's going on in here?"

Peter dropped the chocolate bar as he threw his hands up.

"Wouldn't I like to know," Micky quipped, but he quickly raised his hands as the cop turned the gun on him.

"This girl is loon crazy," Mike said, motioning to Penny. "She told me she could cure my writer's block, and then when she couldn't, she arranged to have us robbed."

"By a zombie," Peter put in.

"Let me out!" Destiny yelled.

"Officer, this man kidnapped my sister!" Penny motioned to Mike.

"Your sister?" all three boys chorused.

"I saw them pull her in here," Penny argued. "And, you can see they've locked her up."

The bigger policeman pulled Mike aside and opened the door. Destiny walked out of the bathroom, her face clean and the curlers removed.

"I'm seeing double," Davy said.

"Me, too," replied Micky.

"You know what tha' means, then?"

"Quadruplets!" Peter deduced.

Mike and Penny whirled around at the same time, with the same slightly disgusted look on the faces. "No! Twins!"

Just then, a third police officer raced into the pad. "We just got a report of a phony phone call coming from this address," he panted. "Some unidentified guy called the station and asked for an officer and then hung up on dispatch--"

"Oh, that was Michael," Peter said, helpfully pointing to Mike, who immediately found himself surrounded by cops, pushed against a wall, and handcuffed.

"Now, wait a minute--" Davy started.

"Hey, Mike's got the right to--" Micky simultaneously began, but one officer stepped over and waved his gun in front of their faces.

Davy put his hands back into the air. "Ooh!"

"Like I was saying, Mike's gotta stop kidnapping girls," Micky said.

"Thanks, guys," Mike said, as he was led out of the pad by two of the cops.


	6. Free Mike!

"I never got to ride in a cop car before," Mike said, conversationally, to one of the police officers as he was tossed into the back seat.

"Right, kid." The cops got in, and one picked up the radio to let the dispatchers know they had apprehended the kidnapper/prank caller.

"Oooh, can I talk on your radio?" Mike asked. "Hey, what does that button do? If you didn't have these handcuffs on me, I would push it because Monkees are notoriously curious creatures, you know… Will you push it for me so I can see what happens? Pretty please?"

It was the longest ten-minute ride that Officers Bert and Bobby could remember. They envied their fellow patrolman who had arrived--and left--on foot.

At the station, one cop ushered Mike into a small interrogation room, and the other disappeared down a long hall.

BANG! A shot rang out, followed by the sound of many booted feet running toward the parking lot. The cop motioned for Mike to sit down and left him alone in the room. Mike perched awkwardly on the tabletop and began thinking of all the words he knew that rhymed with 'prison.'

***

It took five full seconds after Mike's departure for the reality of the situation to kick in. Peter broke down first, followed by Davy, and then Micky. "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike! They took Miiiiike away!" Davy sobbed, leaning his head on Peter's shoulder. Micky joined them in a group hug.

"It's all my fault!" sniffled Peter. "I should have stopped them." He sank cross-legged to the floor, crying harder.

"Wha' are we gonna do now?" Davy asked.

Micky turned around. "We could bust him out," he suggested, with an excited look in his eyes.

"That's rather dangerous," Destiny gasped. The boys started in surprise, as they had forgotten the two girls were still in the pad.

"Or we could form a trio," Micky added. "Hey, hey, we're the…"

The other fellows didn't join in, but just continued crying, with the occasional "Poor Mike" from Davy and a muffled "I already miss the way his voice cracks when he's mad at me," from Peter.

"Well, come along, Destiny. I'm sure the police will be calling us to file reports in the morning, after your narrow escape. We might as well get some sleep," Penny yawned.

"Wait!" Davy yelled. "This isn't Peter's fault at all. It's yours!" He pointed at Penny. "Or yours…" He looked at Destiny. "Well, it's one of yours fault… or your faults… And you've made Peter feel bad! So… so… I don't think you're very nice girls a' all." It was quite possibly the worst insult for a woman that Davy Jones could muster up.

At this accusation, Penny rolled her expressive green eyes, but Destiny's filled up with tears. The distraught twin sank to the floor, next to where Peter had slumped.

"My girlfriend is a nice girl," Micky put in. "Her name is--"

"Not now, Micky. We have to get Mike out of jail," Davy said. "Can't you think of a plan?"

Micky snapped his fingers. "Let's get tee shirts made up that read 'Free Mike!' We'll hand them out on the beach, and they'll attract the attention of the underground press, who will lobby for Mike's freedom! There'll be protests in front of the courthouse and…"

They were interrupted by Peter's laugh, immediately followed by Destiny's breathy giggle.

"You mind tellin' us wha' is so funny, Pe-tah?" Davy asked, sounding exactly like a grade-school teacher with an English accent.

"I was telling Des how I thought she was a zombie, and it turns out that she was coming over to kill the zombie that she thought was in the pad," Peter explained. "She was going to save my life! I think that may be the nicest thing a girl has ever done for me. Only it turns out there was no zombie, after all."

"It was all in Peter's nightmare," Destiny put in. "Imagine! I ran all the way over here after a fake zombie."

"Of course there was no zombie! There are no such things as zombies, you… you… dum-dums!" Penny sighed. "Well, I can't say it's been nice hanging out with you all, but I've had enough. Destiny, say good-night--"

"Penny! We are going down to that police station right now and explaining everything so that their friend gets released. Do I have to remind you of what Daddy would say if--"

"Oh, come on, then."

They piled all into the Monkeemobile and headed toward the police station. Penny groaned inwardly as she realized that she was going to have to face another confrontation with that wool-hatted guy at the station, and this time she was obviously in the wrong. To make matters worse, she noticed Peter opening the door for her twin with one hand, with the other one on Destiny's waist, and the two were chatting away again like long-lost pals. It looked like her sister had every intention of befriending these boys. It was going to be hard to avoid Mr. Wool Hat in that case.


	7. Search and Rescue Monkees?

After what felt like hours without the cops returning, Mike was feeling decidedly miserable. "When they begin the beguine, it brings back the sound of music so tender…"

A female head popped around the door. "Who's singing?"

Mike leaped to his feet from his perch on the table, hoping for a rescuer. "Sorry, miss, that was me. You see, I got arrested for kidnapping a crazy girl, except I didn't--she dressed up like a zombie and scared Peter, my roommate so then I called the cops, and her equally crazy twin sister came over with a bullhorn and my roommates let the cops take me away and they left me here, the cops, I mean, not my roommates--"

"Yeah, Ralphie shot himself in the foot again bringing in the pizza. Some of the guys are helping him, some are making fun of him, and some are just rescuing the pizza. I'm LuAnne."

"I'm Mike."

"Well, don't worry, Mike. The cops will be back soon, but I suggest you don't tell them the story you just told me. They never believe that sit-com kind of stuff. Just have your friends come in and talk to them, and you'll be out of here before dawn."

Mike hung his head and stared at the toes of his boots, imagining the garbled account of the night that the guys would relate. "So, LuAnne, how long does a guy usually get for kidnapping a crazy girl and making a phony phone call to the station?"

"You're my prank caller?" LuAnne asked, looking Mike up and down. "Well, that does make things a little different. Ten to fifteen years with good behavior." She laughed at Mike's horrified expression. "I'm kidding! Look, I think I can probably pull some strings for you. But you have to promise to sing for me."

"Oh, thank you, thank you! You know, usually people try to help us out so that we don't sing…"

LuAnne motioned for Mike to follow her. "By the way, nice jammies."

***

The Monkeemobile screeched to a halt in front of the police station. Micky didn't even get the engine turned off before Peter and Davy tumbled out of the car. Destiny tugged on her sister's arm, and the two girls followed the guys into the station.

"Knock, knock!" Micky called out. "Um, anybody home?" When there was no answer, he tried again. "Hey, coppers, there are long-haired weirdoes in the building!"

A uniformed officer appeared instantly. He took in the night-gowned twins and the boys in pajamas. "We don't give out candy at the station. Aren't you kids a little old for trick-or-treating, anyway?"

"No, no, we're 'ere to get our friend Mike out. He was unfairly accused of kidnapping this girl," Davy explained.

"Which one?" the cop demanded. Destiny raised her hand.

"Spelling of last name?"

"Mine or hers?" Davy asked, puzzled.

"Your friend's."

"Oh, N-E-Z…"

"No, Davy," Peter put in. "I think Mike spells his name with an S."

"Righ'. S-E-Z…"

"There's an N in there, too," Micky interrupted.

Davy started over again. "S-E-Z-N-I-T-H," he finished.

"Seznith?" The cop looked up. "Nope, I don't have any reports of anyone named Seznith brought in tonight for kidnapping."

"I think we spelled Mike's name wrong," Micky said.

"Well, 'e couldn't spell it, either, when we were figh'ing Black Bart," Davy pointed out.

"You boys were fighting?" The cop glared at them.

"Oh, enough," Penny sighed. "Look, no one was kidnapped. It's all a misunderstanding, as Destiny will tell you in her singularly roundabout fashion, if you just let her give a statement."

"Or we'll contact Mike's lawyer," Destiny blurted out.

Peter whispered, "You don't want to do that," urgently into her ear, causing her to ask, "Why not?"

"Because Micky's our lawyer," Peter said.

"Okay, whichever one of you wasn't kidnapped tonight, follow me." The cop reached for a notebook and led Des from the room. Peter was about to follow her, but Micky grabbed him by the sleeve of his bunny pajamas. "Um, Pete? Remember why we're here? To free our good buddy Mike?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Why don't they leave any spare guns lying around here?" Micky asked. "We could all go rushing in to save Mike, shooting up the place, and break him free that way instead of sneaking in and trying not to look suspiciously like long-haired weirdoes in pajamas."

"I dunno. Talk to the writer about it," Davy suggested. "Or, on second thought, send Pe-tah. She obviously likes him best."

"How do you know that?" Peter asked.

"My love interest barely made it through the first scene," Davy said.

"My love interest is a great girl named--" Micky started to say.

"Are we freeing your friend or not?" Penny cut in.

***

"I found him," Penny announced.

The guys looked up front their search of the upstairs supply closet. Davy was looking for Mike behind the boxes on the lower shelves, Micky was checking the higher shelves, and Peter was clutching a mop wearing a wool hat. "Oh, Mike, if only we had found you earlier!"

They dropped what they were holding and rushed over to a glass window overlooking an inner office. Mike was standing inside with a serious-looking man in uniform. The man opened the door and waved the group inside. "I'm Police Chief Phillips. You must be Mr. Nesmith's friends."

"How could you tell?" Peter asked.

"Never mind that. LuAnne told me what happened, so I just sent word downstairs that your friend has been cleared of all charges. Don't do that," he added as the other three Monkees began to hug him.

Back downstairs, Destiny was handing the cop her fifteen-page hand-scrawled deposition of the night's events, which included the offer to help the force out if the city was ever attacked by the undead. As the others stopped in the doorway to tell her that they were all free to go, Davy noticed all of Mike's pajama pockets were inside out.

"Oh, that," Mike said, as they walked out. "Apparently, if you make a prank phone call, the dispatcher on duty has to be the one to pat you down. It was for her own safety. I could have been carrying a switchblade, you know."

"That makes sense," Peter nodded.

"Yeah, I always go to bed with a switchblade in my pajama pockets," Penny replied, sarcastically.

"Here, Pen, let me sit next to Peter," Destiny said.

Mike opened the driver's door, where Micky was already settled behind the wheel. "Slide over, Mick. I wanna get home in one piece, so I'll drive. Plus, we'll get Little Miss Caustic back there home sooner, too."

"I'm too tired to argue," Micky said, trying to stifle another yawn.

"Me, too." Davy yawned, as well, and turned around. "Heh, looks like your sister and our Pet-ah are already asleep," he said to Penny, but she didn't answer, having trouble keeping her own eyes open.


	8. Unfinished Monkee Business?

The next morning marked a first in the Monkees' pad: even Micky was awake before Mike. The three alert boys were eating breakfast and talking quietly.

"It's All Saints Day today," Peter remarked, pointing to the newspaper.

"I suggest we all be saints today," Micky suggested. "Mike's not gonna be in a good mood when he wakes up."

"And we need to keep those girls away from him," Davy added. "Let me see the sports page, Pe-tah. There was a race I was interested in--"

"When I'm done checking the baseball scores," the blond answered.

Davy jokingly lunged across the table to make a grab for the paper, which Peter promptly held above his head, standing up and craning his neck back to continue reading. Davy was crawling onto his chair and Micky was laughing at the antics when a loud knock on the door interrupted them.

"OOF!" Davy said, falling backward. He grabbed Micky for balance, Micky grabbed the tablecloth for balance, and two Monkees and the breakfast dishes clattered to the floor. More knocking ensued.

"Guys! Let me get to the door before that knocking wakes up Mike--" Peter tried to step over his friends, but he tripped on Micky's outstretched leg and landed in the heap. All three looked up to see Mike staggering the steps.

He swung open the door, where Penny was standing with a tray of freshly baked cookies. "Do you know what time it is?" he snapped.

"It's ten o'clock in the mor--"

"Oh, I thought it was earlier. I guess spending half the night in jail will do to that a person," he finished, and slamming the door shut, stomped back upstairs.

Peter rushed over to re-open the door. Penny looked just about mad enough to spit. In fact, she was still contemplating doing just that when the guys surrounded her and rescued the cookies.

"We forgive you, we forgive you," Davy said, taking the tray out of her hands.

"I was never even mad at you. I don't even know which one you are," Micky put in, taking the tray out of Davy's hands.

"Where's Destiny?" Peter asked, taking the tray from Micky. Davy took it back from Peter.

"I--I don't know," Penny said. "Is he always like that?" She motioned upstairs.

"Only when he's been in jail," Peter told her.

"How much time has he spent in jail, besides last night?"

"Well, there was the time we held up the bank," Micky said.

"Ooh, and the time we had the run-in with the Big Man in the ghost town," Davy added.

"Oh, there's Destiny now!" exclaimed Peter. "I'm going for a walk on the beach, 'kay, right, see ya later, guys, bye!" He rushed out the door.

Davy laughed. "Boy, old Pe-tah hasn't acted that dopey in--"

"Almost ten minutes," Micky finished, drolly. "Good cookies. My compliments to the chef."

"Oh, thanks. I didn't let Destiny near the mix," Penny said, a little stunned. "Look, don't you think we should go after them?"

"Nah, no point crimping their style," Davy replied.

"Yeah, Peter usually does a good job of that on his own," Micky said. When Davy turned a frown in his direction, he shrugged. "Mike's asleep. Someone's got to be sarcastic, right?"

"Right," Mike said, from behind them.

"Hey, I suddenly 'ave to be in the kitchen," Davy said, looking from Mike to Penny and then rushing from the room.

"Me, too!" Micky shouted, following him. "Hey, don't drop those cookies, Davy."

There was an awkward silence.

"I'msorryIgotyouarrested," Penny muttered, looking at her tennis shoes. "I baked you some cookies, but I think your friends have just finished them."

Mike glanced back at the guys, huddled behind the table as if afraid a bar fight might break out in the pad. Sure enough, there were only crumbs left on the tray.

"I'msorryIslammedthedoorinyourface," Mike said. He returned his gaze to his boots.

"So, this doesn't mean we have to like each other, right?" Penny said. "Because I'm not crazy about the idea of my one and only sister and your… dummy friend."

"Peter's not a dummy," Mike replied, a bit too automatically. "I would like to assure you that I am equally unhappy about the idea of my kind-hearted and sensitive friend and your… loon of a sister. So, I guess this leaves us with…"

"An uneasy truce," Penny finished. She held out her hand, warily. Mike shook it, equally warily. Then she turned and stepped to the door. Mike reached out to open it for her, and she took great pleasure in slamming it shut in his face.

"Well, I think that went well, don't you?" Micky snickered. When Mike turned around to face him, Micky held out the cookie tray. "Have a crumb?"


End file.
